


For Term of Life

by Ursula



Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two wedding rings beside the bed in which Neal Caffrey sleeps with his lovers. Inspired by Bella's J and the picture of two rings she posted to White Collar Fic on 11-20-2009</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Term of Life

Title: For Term of Life

Author: Ursula

Rating: NC 17

Genre and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal/Elizabeth

Spoilers: None exactly

Warnings: Schmoop

Disclaimer:   
1\. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Summary: There are two wedding rings beside the bed. Inspired by Bella's J and the picture of two rings she posted to White Collar Fic on 11-20-2009

(Shakespeare Sonnet 92)

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,  
For term of life thou art assured mine;

OooOooO

 

It wasn't the first time. Nor the fortieth time.

The first time had been a mating flight. The first time was Neal in the middle, Peter inside him, and Elizabeth encasing him with her velvet flesh. If there is post traumatic stress, is there such as thing as post orgasmic delight?

Even Jones had said Neal had been walking on air the day after. He couldn't wait to get to Peter's each night. He seldom went home to June although he still stopped by to run her errands and have a cup of tea while listening to her day.

When Neal tries to apologize, June laughs gently and says, "It's very grand to be young and in love. Your FBI agent has fallen to your charms. Or is it the lovely lady, Elizabeth?"

At Neal's blush, June's eyes widen and she says with delight, "Oh, I see. The two of them? You are a lucky man."

Neal is not sure that there is not a little voodoo queen in June's ancestry. He would have fallen for June if they had met when she was young. He loves her anyway with whatever part of his heart is untouched by Peter and Elizabeth. He know that this pleases her.

They dance that day to Frank Sinatra, June and Neal dancing in her big living room with the portrait of Byron and Harry on the wall.

"The lone-ly night discloses just a passing breeze filled with memories  
Of the golden smile that introduced me to the days of wine and roses and you" Neal sang in June's ear along with Sinatra.

"You are so much like my Byron," June whispered, her fingers toying with Neal's hair. "And his Harry, my dear Harry. I miss them everyday. When I saw you in that shop, it was like seeing my dear ones again. You think you tricked me into bringing you home? I would have insisted."

"And now I'm hardly ever here," Neal utters remorsefully.

"That's all right, I have Mozzie and he is surprisingly good company. 'The cream in my coffee.' I so adore younger men."

Neal is not sure if she is joking or not. She won't tell him. He hopes it is not mere humor because he wants June to be happy. He wants Mozzie to be happy. Hell, he wants Cruz to be happy.

Because Neal is so much in love, he can't stop grinning. He sings and he dances even at the office. Peter does not know what to do with him and settles for smiling indulgently.

Even Hughes unbends enough to let his lips twitch in an echo of a smile.

OooOooO

It wasn't the first time. Nor the fortieth time.

Neal was on his side, facing the bed table. He was just resting and dreaming, lying with his ass still nestled in Peter's crotch. Peter was sound asleep, besotted with sex and sprawled over Neal, heavy, warm, and solid. Neal was half smothered, but he needs no mere oxygen; he is inhaling pure love.

Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair. She has kiss bruises on either side of her neck. One is from Neal and one is from Peter. It's art work. Neal really wants her to always look like this, marked his and Peter's. She turns her head back toward Neal as if feeling his gaze. She smiles tenderly at Neal and at Peter before returning to her long strokes with the brush. Neal can't help watching her, but his eyes are nearly as weighty as Peter's body embracing him. Slowly his lashes start to close, but something catches his eyes before they shut.

Gold. They take their rings off each night and put them on the night stand. First thing in the morning before they dress, those rings go on.

Neal has no ring.

Neal is not husband or wife.

He feels just a little bit sick.

Satchmo and Neal are alike. Pets that eat scraps from their table.

Neal reflects upon his foolish pride. To think he belonged in the bed. He starts to move from beneath Peter's embrace, but Peter stirs in his sleep and frowns. The arm around Neal pulls him closer. Elizabeth finishes with her hair, stops to lean over Neal, kissing his eyes shut.

"Love you, doll," Elizabeth said.

It wounds him. Doll. He is a doll, a poppet, a pet. He amuses them. He satisfies Peter's seven year itch and Elizabeth's too.

"Love you, El," Neal says. He doesn't lie. He doesn't even think that El lies. She loves Satchmo too.

When Elizabeth gets into bed, Peter somehow knows and turns away from Neal toward her.

Neal is cold.

OooOooO

Morning is so normal. Neal takes his turn at showering. He shaves. Peter comes in when he is still shaving and stands behind him, holding him.

Neal shivers and Peter snuggles him in his arms. "You aren't coming down with something, are you?"

"I'm just cold," Neal says.

"Not that I don't love your body, but eat, Neal, eat. You starve yourself. That's why you're cold," Peter said. He slaps Neal's ass as he leaves and is very cheerful as a well laid man should be.

"It's not why I am cold," Neal whispers so low that Peter will not hear.

In the car, Peter keeps looking at Neal, reading him.

"Drive," Neal suggests.

"Something is wrong," Peter said.

"I'm worried about June. Her grand daughter is away with some friends. I think I should go home tonight."

"Home?" Peter asked; he shakes his head. Neal can see his lips thin and grow a little pale. That V of anger or frustration that Neal has hardly seen for weeks since that wonderful first time is back.

"The place with the good coffee and my soft white bed," Neal replied.

Now Peter is definitely vein-in-his-temple-pounding mad.

"Well, I am sorry that our coffee is suddenly not good enough for you."

Peter turns all his attention to driving and that's good. Isn't it?

It isn't the coffee, Neal thinks, it's how shallow the sip you offer me.

 

OooOooO

Neal seldom leaves work before Peter does. Before he went to bed with Peter and Elizabeth, he craved those after work drinks. Even when Kate was all he could think about, Neal needed Peter so much it was pathetic. All those little things that became normal to him, indulging their love of coffee, lunches, all those lunches, talking in the car…

What in the hell was wrong with Neal that he always had to push for a little more? One last gambit and he would be out of the life forever. It landed him in jail. It landed him with Peter, with Elizabeth. His heart in a cage.

"Jones, do me a favor and drive Neal back to his place," Peter said. "It's raining and he forgot his coat."

"Sure, boss," Jones said. "Neal, meet me in front in ten minutes."

Jones was gone before Neal could stop him.

"I was going to have another look at the Mendez case," Neal said, reaching for the file.

"Don't bother. I'm taking Elizabeth to dinner. She had a bad day."

"I'm …."

Peter's whisper is like the sound a sword makes cutting the air. "Don't even bother, Caffrey. Not that anything really bothers you. Get the hell out of here. For your own good, get out of my sight."

Neal stands so quickly that his head spins. He sways and he knows he is standing there, his stricken eyes unable to leave Peter's face.

"Stop it. I won't send you back about this. What do you think I am?"

"Peter."

"We can't talk here."

Dumbly nodding, there are no pretty words to put this right, Neal walks out the door. Winter is here. He is cold.

Jones is nice. He doesn't say much but he laughs at Neal's little foibles and he treats Neal like a coworker not a prisoner.

"You do something to piss Peter off?" Jones asked when they settled in the car.

Neal shrugs. He asks, "How is it going with Lauren and you?"

"She won't give me the time of day. She wants to be one of the guys. I've moved on."

"What's with you? You don't seem to be yourself," Jones asks.

"A little under the weather."

"Sorry, man, you kind of spark up the office most of the time. It's fun. You give us something to talk about."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Don't worry about Peter. He gets like this when he and El have a spat. Married men…"

"Yes, married," Neal agrees. He closes his eyes with trembling lashes and the rest of the drive is silent.

OooOooO

Neal makes it two days of Peter, speaking to him only when he has to. Those days his anklet feels like a ball and chain. He finds his left foot dragging. The anklet, god damn you Peter, had become so much a part of him that he was hardly aware of it. Now it's like the first few days but worse. During a long meeting, Neal must have leaned down to rub his ankle five times until the sixth time; Peter stealthily grabs his arm and stops him.

At least, Peter is touching him and Neal vibrates at the familiar heat of Peter's hand. He realizes in that instant that he has been a fool. Don't yearn to fly to the sun, Icarus; it is enough that it warms you on earth.

For once, Peter wants to leave work early and he does not delegate Neal to anyone else. Peter holds the door for him. It's what he does for Elizabeth, old fashioned and delightful. He holds the door for perps though too. Neal is not sure which one he is to Peter today, someone he cares about or someone he has imprisoned. Or both.

Peter watches Neal slide in but does not shut the door. He says gruffly, "Let me see it."

"It" is almost always the anklet. Neal slides over and angles, giving his leg to Peter without complaint because he is so hungry for his lover's touch that anything will do.

"You've rubbed yourself raw," Peter said. "Does it chaff you so much that you are ready to chew off your own leg?"

Neal shakes his head as Peter takes a first aid kit from the glove box, gently smoothes ointment over the irritated flesh, reaching beneath the cool metal and plastic to the heat of Neal's skin beneath, and then puts the tube in Neal's breast pocket. "Use that."

"Thanks, Peter." Neal hears the tremor in his voice, but he can't stop it. He wants to grab Peter's head, drag him down, make Peter do him right here. He controls himself, dragging on the seatbelt.

Peter slides in the car, but doesn't start it. "Elizabeth tells me that I can not punish you at work for what's not happening at home. That I may be your keeper, but it's a sick, sick thing to think that means I can have you anywhere I want, any way that I want. She says I owe you an apology."

Peter pounds the steering wheel and says, "But I don't understand. I can't understand and I am so angry I scare myself."

"Sorry," Neal whispers, "Sorry."

Neal wants it all back, all of it, but he does not know how to mend this rift. His words have failed him.

"Do you want someone else to be your keeper?"

Peter drives silently after his outburst and only asks the question when they pull up in front of June's.

"Don't do that to me, Peter, please don't cut me loose."

Neal sees the hurt and puzzlement. He hates himself. Settle, Neal, you had it good, why can't you settle for what you get?

Peter shakes his head and says, "I don't really know you, Neal, do I?"

Neal does not know what to say. He doesn't know himself either.

OooOooO

Elizabeth is waiting for him. It's obvious that Peter did not know she was here or he would have waited for her or come up with Neal.

"Come here," Elizabeth said, "You look terrible."

"Thank you ever so much for that," Neal says wryly, but he obeys, how would he do otherwise, and goes to her where she sits on his bed.

Neal loves his bed here. It is white, the comforter is snow, the linens are cream with froth of lace. The mattress is goose down. The sheet feels so smooth on his skin. The pillows are incredible, billowing clouds on which he may rest. His bed looks so pure, but it is lush and sinfully comfortable. He likes Peter and El's bed because they are in it, but this bed is what he thinks about when he dreams of sleep.

It is this bed he dreams about when he dreams of Peter.

Peter took him here the first time, before Elizabeth, as Neal measures time. Peter ravaged him in the virginal innocence of all that white, destroyed him with kisses, took him like a conquering army, yanked Kate out of his heart and thrust himself within.

Neal can devise cons that play out like Shakespeare. They are elegant productions so lovely that he wishes he could have a larger audience when they unfold to perfection.

Neal can not plot out his heart. He gives it wildly. He gives it totally. He breaks it and each time it seems that it will not mend.

Neal is a humble lover in his way. He has never asked more than he was offered except with Kate. And Kate left him.

Peter and Elizabeth will not leave him, but Neal wants what he can not have. Those rings, glowing contently on the table, burn into his soul.

Elizabeth draws him down and she brings his head to her breasts. "Whatever it is, Neal, it's not as bad as you think."

Her hand strokes through his hair. Neal holds onto her and she is soft. She is tender and funny, bright and strong. She is beautiful and giving.

Elizabeth brings his face up and looks in his eyes. "Is it Peter? You can tell me, Neal, did you leave us because you can not bear to share him?"

He almost laughs. "No," Neal said, "I would be insane to want that. Even if it was a possibility, I would never, never want that."

"Because you don't want to hurt me?" Elizabeth said and there are tears that Neal would not cause, not even if someone tore him with hot pokers, would he bring her sorrow.

Neal kisses her tears away. He tells her, "Because you are love, Elizabeth, and I treasure you. I love you both separately with all of my heart. I love you both together with that love squared."

Neal has remade Elizabeth's sorrow into a smile. "Do you want to?" Elizabeth asks, her hand waved over the bed.

Neal is instantly hard, to have her there where Peter had him. Yes, he wants that but he shakes his head. "I have to make it right with Peter first. If he will forgive me, you would make me the happiest person on earth to love with me here."

"With Peter, it's not words. He will never be the first one to say he was sorry."

Elizabeth's hand rests over his heart.

Neal is startled because Elizabeth is seldom wrong when it came to emotions. She knows all the variations of the human heart as Neal could recite every decent manufacturer's oil paints from da Vinci Alizarin Crimson Gold to Winsor and Newton Zinc White.

Peter said he was sorry first and Neal's heart leaps at that realization. He thinks the thump is evident as Elizabeth looks startled and then curious.

She smiles, strokes the bed, and says, "I'm going to love having you here. Don't make me wait, Neal."

Neal watches her walks away and his hand reaches to bring her back. He stops himself and lets her go. He knows that he will do whatever it takes. He will school his heart. What can he expect? He is no Elizabeth, no Peter. Scraps from the banquet of themselves are a feast.

OooOooO

It was one of those long days. Nothing exciting. Somehow Neal expected that every day would be like the ones where Peter nearly caught him or did catch him. There are days when it's such a rush and Neal is high on the danger. It feels just like pulling off a big con or standing in an audience, hearing one of his masterful forgeries admired. He knows that Peter feels the same and they smile at each other in mutual admiration. This is not one of those days.

"Caffrey and I have to reboot our minds," Peter said. "We're going to take a long lunch and chew over the De Marco case."

It's been days since Peter has had lunch with him and Neal is starved, not so much for food, but for Peter's eyes upon him. Neal dresses himself in Peter's gaze, armors himself with Elizabeth's touch. He drinks from the sweet water of their regard and it will be enough, he tells his too greedy heart.

"Where are we going?" Neal asks. He hasn't been eating well and he is not sure what he can stomach.

Peter only makes a little growling sound which should have been comical and was not.

"Get in the car," Peter says.

Neal wonders if there is some wilderness that holds the bones of lovers lost to Peter. He is afraid and yet he can do nothing but sit next to his beloved. He rests his head against cool vinyl, his gaze toward Peter. And if Peter will slay him, he will still have to touch him to do that. Neal knows that nothing can be impersonal between them, not even his death.

When they stop, it at Peter's house. Neal is startled to feel relief. That little game he played in his mind was an amusement because he knows the core of Peter is gentle strength. He loves that foundation; it was just startling to see how angry he could make Peter. Neal turns that fact around in his mind.

"Come on," Peter said.

Elizabeth is working some place, doing her wizardry for some mogul or star. The house she decorated and loved is always filled with her. Neal stands like a stranger in this structure that had started to feel like home.

Peter lets Satchmo out of his crate and the dog leaps all over Neal, breaks the law to jump and put his paws on Neal to kiss his face.

"Yeah, Satchmo misses you too. Did you think about that?"

Neal had not and he is angry at himself all over again. He kneels down to rub Satchmo under the ears, kisses him between the eyes, and he feels warm for the first time in days.

"He has to go out," Peter said, calling the dog to his side. Satchmo whines a little but obeys, looking back at Neal as if to ask him if he will be there when the dog is allowed back in.

When Peter returns, he reaches for Neal who is still standing just barely in the living room. He pulls him into his embrace. "Say 'yes'. You have to say 'yes'. Please say 'yes'."

Neal manages a drawn out sigh of a yes. He would say it again but Peter's kiss devours his words. Peter strips him of his jacket and undoes his tie so roughly that it may not survive. Neal does not care.

Peter's kisses follow his fingers down as they fly over Neal's buttons. Neal can feel the heat wherever those fingers graze his flesh.

Belt undone. Neal's back is against the banister. He does not remember retreating before Hurricane Peter, but here he is, all sweet surrender to those rough winds.

Peter's kisses travel like wild fire back to Neal's neck. They draw him in. They suckle from his skin. They mark him to the bone. They etch Peter everywhere seen and unseen.

Neal's hands flutter empty as Peter steps away. He knows that look. He has stood when he has created, imitated something beautiful and has to take a deep breath from the shock of having done something so well. Peter has made Neal his art and he likes what he has done.

A hungry moan and Peter kneels, taking off shoes, socks, guiding down Neal's trousers. Neal does not even reproach when Peter tosses his beloved slacks away, anywhere. He is puzzled when Peter fumbles in his own pocket.

Neal recognizes the tool. Once a week they take his anklet off, inspect it, put it back on. Peter never does it himself, but he often comes into the tech area to watch. Afterwards, they often take an early lunch and eat no food but each other's kisses; Neal is very fond of his monitor at those times.

When Peter stands up, Neal is entirely naked and he has the urge to cover his left ankle where Peter's eyes have fallen. He burns bright red.

"There, there, you can get dressed again and you can go, find Kate, find whatever it is you think is lacking with Elizabeth and me."

Neal knows to walk out that door is to take Peter's job and Peter loves his work. If they know that Peter freed him, it would be Peter who would be imprisoned.

It is not for those reasons that Neal does not flee. You can not run from who you are. Neal would never be free of them. He does not want to be.

Neal looks at Peter who is fully dressed and Neal is so naked it is surprising he still has even his skin.

But Peter is also achingly unclothed in this moment, all his want in his eyes. Neal doesn't understand, not entirely, but he can live with the mystery. He undresses Peter, rumpled coat, off the rack jacket and not even the best fitted. Shiny leather belt. Shiny zipper. The shoes Elizabeth bitched about and threatened to give to Satchmo as chew toys. Peter's right sock has a worn spot and Neal manages to toss the sock all the way into the trash basket. Now there is nothing but Peter and it was good.

OooOooO

Peter sets the anklet on the stand, right where he would usually set his ring with Elizabeth's. He sets his ring inside the circle of plastic. Neal looks at that and he understands at last that not all rings are made of gold.

Peter kisses Neal everywhere, but always returns to his lips, his mouth, his lithe tongue. They are moving against each other and Neal thinks that is all Peter is going to do and it would be enough for Peter, but not enough for Neal. He reaches for the drawer and his things are still there, the slick and the sheath for Peter and him. It is Elizabeth who buys these things and Elizabeth who puts them there and, even in her absence, she is with them and it is good.

Peter will not let Neal prepare himself. He was ginger about touching Neal like this at first, but now he is into it. He opens Neal with his touch, his tongue, his love and his tender fingers.

Oh how Neal shudders and sighs when Peter thrusts himself inside. It is sweet rivulet of pain and the raging river of pleasure. Something else, it's like coming home. It's like realizing that you have come to a place that for the first time in your life feels like you belong.

"Touch yourself, Neal," Peter groaned out. "I need you with me and I want this too damn much. I needed this too long. Neal!"

Neal almost needs no friction to come. He can feel Peter building it inside him. He can not tell where Peter ends and Neal begins. He is his straining body and his mind freed of all the burdens that trouble him. There is nothing but Peter and nothing but Neal. The two of them together.

It is an explosion of pleasure and it is almost too much. The detonation rocks between them. Peter does not immediately withdraw. He arches over Neal and pulls him into a Rodin like stone struggle of a kiss. When Peter finally parts from him, there is nothing Neal wants in this moment. He has been given it all and he is richly robed in joy.

Somewhere below Peter's phone is ringing and Satchmo is barking at something in the back yard.

Neal sighs and says, "We have to go back to work."

"Guess we better grab showers."

"People would really talk," Neal agreed. The room is thick with sex musk and Neal has Peter's scent all over him. He doesn't mind. He would gladly wear it if it meant that this was always going to be his.

Neal starts to get up when Peter does. Peter shakes his head and says, "Neal, if you come into that shower with me, we will never get back to work. I haven't had you for a week and it feels like it was forever."

So Neal closes his eyes and explores the little aches and pools of heat where Peter has marked him through and through.

OooOooO

Peter puts on his ring and then fits the anklet back over Neal's flesh and bone when they both have showered. He smiles a little and says, "When this comes off in four years, I will miss it. I know you hate it, but I have grown fond of it."

Turning mundane from the god he was, Peter pulls open a drawer and grumbles, "It was just a fray, not even a hole yet. He throws away my clothes just like Elizabeth does."

Neal laughs and says. "I'll let Satchmo in."

Peter smiles and said, "No treats though. He has a few hours yet until we are all home again."

It is good and well that Peter expects that Neal will be part of 'we' again. Neal goes downstairs.

OooOooO

Satchmo is eating up Neal's attention. Neal says to the dog as he rubs his ears and the dog wiggles happy all over him, "You have your collar and I have my anklet so who needs a ring, huh, boy? No rings for us."

Neal thinks he hears Peter and he is beet red about being overheard, but Peter is not on the stairs when he looks up. So he is not caught, not anymore than he wanted to be at least.

They go back to work and Neal suddenly sees some discrepancy that he missed in a thrice read document and even as he moves to point it out to Peter, Peter sees it also and their gazes meet in mutual delight almost as wonderfully twain as the love they made.

OooOooO

It wasn't the first time. Nor the fortieth time.

Neal is ready to tumble into bed, but Peter is kneeling at his feet and Elizabeth is holding his hand.

"What?"

Elizabeth reaches in the drawer where she keeps the things to ease the way for her husband and their lover. She has a small box, a jeweler's box. She hands it to Peter who takes it and opens it.

"We would like you to wear this," Peter said.

It is a ring just like Peter's and Elizabeth's.

"But do thy worst to steal thyself away,  
For term of life thou art assured mine;  
And life no longer than thy love will stay,  
For it depends upon that love of thine."

Neal understands these are vows as Peter and Elizabeth recite the sonnet together. He holds his hand out, Elizabeth steadies the trembling wrist so Peter can guide the ring onto his finger.

If it was perfection before, now it is beyond that to some realm where love dances divine. Every touch evokes the passion that Neal feels. He is between them as he prefers to be and, god, please let this never stop. Let it build to crescendos and linger, letting time not swallow the delights of this night.

He is drunk on them. They are inebriated with the taste, the touch, the entirety of him given freely.

And when it is over and even Neal can do nothing but sigh his contentment into Elizabeth's arms in front of him and Peter's embrace to his back, Neal can see the bed stand, the polished wood, the little vagary of lunar glow that flits past the never dimming New York lights and triumphs, finding the three rings on the tables, so carelessly put aside, but they overlap each to the other. Three rings forming eternity.

Neal's artist's eyes sees that and he smiles. He can serve this life sentence in days of never-ending joy.

The end


End file.
